


High Chicago

by SpicyReyes



Category: Left 4 Dead (Video Games)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2020-05-23
Packaged: 2021-03-03 00:15:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24055786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpicyReyes/pseuds/SpicyReyes
Summary: The world is ending, people are turning into walking corpses, and in the center of it all, people cling to what they have left.And, if what they have left is nothing at all, they find something new.
Relationships: Francis/Louis (Left 4 Dead)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 24





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Blind Man's Bluff](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11546595) by [ladyredms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyredms/pseuds/ladyredms). 



> so the lovely ladyredms gave me permission to write a frouis epic fic like the holy grail that is bmb and now yall get to deal with this

_ “Media’s all about scare tactics, man.” _

Louis’ heartbeat pounded in his ears, beyond his influence to tame at this point, too focused on keeping his panicked breathing as quiet as possible. 

_ “Everybody wants to be able to say ‘I told you so’ if shit goes wrong.”  _

The shuffling sounds paused, uncomfortably close to him. He caught his breath, waiting, terrified of what would inevitably follow. 

And then, there was a gunshot.

Louis jumped, before scrambling back, away from the edge of the desk he’d hidden under, watching with wide eyes as the legs of an infected stumbled past. 

Another gunshot rang out, then another - someone was making a stand. 

Louis had seen news stories of riots overnight, where the cities got hit with Green Flu and immediately shut down, only to have brave - and stupid - souls climbing out into the night to take guns to the problem. 

_ Massacres,  _ they’d been called. Hundreds of people, shot down, killed for contracting the virus. 

He thought about the weight of his infected coworker bearing down on him, thought about the attack. He raised his hand up, tucking under the collar of his shirt, tracing fingertips along the bruising there, thinking of the wicked teeth that had nearly sunk into him. 

He wasn’t sure a ‘massacre’ was what he’d call it. He wouldn’t take any joy in killing a human being, but if it was that, or let them do whatever their sick minds were drawn to do…

Gunshots kept popping. 

They were going to die. Louis had the thought wash over him suddenly, like someone dumped cold water on him. The gunshots were  _ loud,  _ and the infected seemed drawn to noise. It was only by staying silent that he’d managed to get out of harm’s way, and only by staying silent that anyone would make it out in one piece. 

But whoever was on the street, they had a gun. They had the tools to fight back.

_ It comes down to numbers,  _ he thought.  _ If they have more bullets...or more bodies. _

The gunshots stopped. Louis held his breath once more, waiting, until there was another, unable to help the flooding feeling of relief at the knowledge that his mystery ally had not, in fact, been overrun. 

If he was nearby, though, then the gun-toting stranger was closing in on the gun range. Louis’ office was practically right on top of it, short enough a distance that he went on his lunches to practice. 

If they could get back to the range, they’d have a much better chance. Plenty of people kept guns there specifically for sport shooting, in private storage - Louis included. 

The thought drew Louis up short.

Of course. He’d been worried about his unidentified friend in the streets, but he had just solved his own problem. He couldn’t hide under a desk forever, and even if shooting sick people sounded like the worst option, it was still an option other than  _ dying _ . 

The question was, how the hell did he get to the range? 

_ One thing at a time,  _ he told himself. 

He had to get out from under the desk.

There were several infected in the room with him, he knew - almost his entire office. They’d all seemed healthy that morning, when he came in, but all it took was one of them to turn the tide. One infected bit one healthy human, then two infected bit two healthy humans - fibonacci sequence taking them from a normal day in the office to-...

To, well, where they were.

Very carefully, as quiet as he could, Louis turned over, leaning very slightly out from under the desk, looking into the room. 

With the removal of healthy humans from the premises, the infected seemed to have lost direction, instead simply loitering in the destroyed office space. People he’d worked with for months stood staring blankly at walls or out the window, their skin tinged an inhuman grey, eyes bloodshot, mouths open. Most of them looked otherwise normal, but some had taken damage in the struggle, and wandered about with torn-open clothes, bleeding or swollen limbs, limps - any number of injuries. 

Nearest to him, a former receptionist had deep scratches down the side of her face. They looked like they’d been left untreated for days, badly infected, even though she couldn’t have had them more than an hour. 

_ They’re rotting,  _ Louis realized, stomach turning over.  _ They look like month-old bodies, but they aren’t even dead. _

Feeling sick, he dipped back under the desk.

He couldn’t help them, as much as he wished to. He wasn’t a doctor, and he wasn’t sure any doctor in the world would have been any help to them, anyway. His only option was to escape before he joined them, and get somewhere safe, so that he could send appropriate help back for them. 

The military had been talking enforcing a lockdown in major cities, that morning on the news. They had to have a setup somewhere nearby that he could get to, report the damage done, get evacuation efforts in the right place-...

He just had to get  _ out of the office.  _

_ Think, Louis. _

The infected all seemed to be  _ hungry,  _ going in mouth-first in each attack, like they intended to eat each other alive, only to lose interest as their intended food turned to the same sickly color as themselves. 

Without a human around, they had all become docile, but Louis wasn’t sure how far he could get without drawing attention, especially with the amount of infected office staff that were looking in his direction already.

His only hope was that the gunshots still echoing on the street below would draw their attention to the window, but they didn’t seem to understand the source of it, as each new fired round had them looking around the room at random. 

_ It’s too muffled,  _ he realized.  _ They can’t tell where it’s coming from.  _

If he could smash out the window, it would make it louder, clearer. They could-...

... _ Or. _

Louis shifted under the desk, scrambling to dig in his pocket, pulling his shirt untucked in the process, making a mad grab for his phone. Pulling up the clock application with shaking hands, he mashed in the keys for an alarm, exactly one minute out.

He’d rather replace the phone then die in his damn office.

Holding his breath, he moved, crawling partway out from under the desk, and chucked the phone across the room full force. 

It hit the wall with a smack, sliding down onto the floor, every infected person turning to watch it bounce against the carpet.

_ Did it break?  _

The blaring of his phone’s shitty wakeup alarm was his answer. 

It was like flipping a switch - the previously calm and content people let out inhuman noises of rage, and piled over each other, arms out, clawing through the air around the phone. One tripped, and set off a domino effect, bodies collapsing into each other. 

The split-faced receptionist reached out with curled fingers, grabbing at another person’s arm and digging in. Under her touch, the skin gave way instantly, blood welling up to coat her hand, and that set off a whole new chain reaction, the infected seeming to grow frustrated at their inability to stop the noise, and they started fighting each other, as though one among them was responsible for it. 

After a moment, Louis realized he’d been frozen, watching in horror, and remedied this, climbing out from under the desk and making for the door as quietly as he was able. 

Right as he touched the doorknob, the alarm cut off. 

Louis didn’t know if it timed out, or if the phone had been broken, but he didn’t wait to find out. He threw the door open, tearing out, heading straight down the stairs as fast as he could.

Growling and cries echoed out behind him, and he tried not to compare the sounds to rabid dogs, chasing after a smaller animal they hoped to rip to shreds. 

_ They’re sick,  _ he told himself, reaching the bottom of the stairs and making for the front door.  _ Just sick.  _

He pushed open the glass doors on the street level, and froze in place, staring out in horror.

There were bodies  _ everywhere.  _

Most of them, from a glance, appeared to have been grey-skinned, but he was too sickened to look at their faces. Humans, infected or not, were coating the street, mowed down mercilessly. 

_ Did the shooter on the street do this?  _ He wondered. 

He suddenly wasn’t sure he wanted to seek out the noise. 

He couldn’t think that way, though. Whatever had gone wrong in the city, it would be hard for  _ anyone  _ to make it out, and he couldn’t leave someone to fate if he could help. If he was going to get to the gun range, it would only make sense to take anyone he found along the way with him. 

The noise of the street lulled again, and Louis paused until it resumed, starting to ease his way between scattered cars along the street, working toward the sound. 

A full size truck sat in the road, a ways in front of the office, turned entirely on its side, a gigantic dent in it as though it had been stomped into the ground by a giant. 

_ That’s not a normal crash,  _ Louis thought, staring at it. The metal looked crumpled, folding in on itself in bumps and dips, not a flat surface or a hard edge like a car crash.

_ What happened here? _

A loud  _ whoop  _ caught his attention, and he rushed ahead, pressing himself against the upturned truck, peeking around its back corner to investigate. 

Further down the road, he could see a man, stood on top of a car, firing down into the crowd of infected around him. The shotgun in his hands blasted them apart without any issue.

They weren’t even threats to him, from what Louis could tell. The higher ground kept the man out of harm’s way, and he switched between targets at random, rather than focusing on those closest to his vantage point. 

He was having fun.

_ What kind of sick-...?  _

The man seemed to run out of ammunition, turning the gun over to reload it, pulling shotgun shells out of the pocket of his leather vest. 

Seemingly confused by the sudden lack of noise, some of the infected below started to turn away, as though searching for the man they’d just been fighting. 

_ It’s like their brains are just...fried.  _

One of the main symptoms of the flu had been an extreme fever. Were they still suffering? Was the confusion the same kind that came from being severely ill normally?

He looked over the crowd, searching their faces. 

_ Somebody,  _ he thought, almost a prayer.  _ Somebody’s got to understand what’s going on.  _

He didn’t find a single set of eyes that were blank in the street between him and the stranger. Desperate, he looked farther, finally settling on a grey-skinned woman who looked otherwise almost normal, bloodshot eyes trained hard on something.

Trained on the man reloading. 

“Behind you!” he cried out in warning, without thought. The man in the vest jerked his head up, looking his way, before catching up to what he’d said. He turned on his heel, looking wildly out into the street.

At the same time, the infected woman lunged, hand darting out over the roof of the car, seizing tight to his ankle. 

_ He’s going to be pulled off,  _ Louis thought, panicked.  _ She’s going to kill him. _

The man on the car, though, seemed to have other ideas. He jerked his foot back, straining against her grip, and rolled his own ankle, getting the tip of his boat above her arm, slamming it back down against the car roof. 

A sickening crunch could be heard, even from Louis’ distant point, and the infected released him.

The man didn’t stop there, though - he shot his foot back out, kicking the woman in the head, throwing her back against a nearby car. 

She smacked hard against it, getting blasted apart almost instantly by a shotgun blast.

Louis had half a second to be disgusted before the car alarm rang out.

“Shit!” the man on the car cried out. 

Louis looked around, watching the zombies who had started his way falter, debating between following the old noise and attacking the new one.

Most of them seemed to settle on the car alarm, moving in increasingly agitated groups toward it, and Louis took his shot. He took off between the cars, heading for the other end of the street.

“This way!” he called to the stranger. “There’s a safe place down the road!” 

Another shotgun blast stopped him short, and he looked back. 

The man in the vest had started firing into the group clustered around the alarmed car, picking them off. 

“Leave them!” Louis cried. “They won’t hurt anyone like that!”

“Fuck off, boy scout,” the man called back. “You want to help somebody, get a damn gun.” 

“I’m trying!” Louis told him, exasperated. “There’s a gun range down the street! We can-...”

A hand wrapped tight around his upper arm, yanking him hard sideways, and he looked to see an infected person holding him, teeth bared. 

They looked gnarled and yellowed, and he spared a split second’s thought to wonder how long they’d been infected for that to happen, before he was dragged sideways again. The infected made a clear grab for his shoulder, teeth bared, ready to bite. 

_ Am I going to be one of these things?! _

He closed his eyes on reflex, only to snap them back open a second later, as another sickening impact sound came from directly in front of him.

The man from the car yanked his shotgun back, from where he’d struck out with the stock, crumpling a dent into the infected’s chest like it was made of clay. They swayed on the spot, grip on Louis’ arm loosening slightly, and the man turned the gun around, leveling the barrel with the infected’s face. 

“No!” Louis cried out. “They’re  _ sick!” _

The man pulled the trigger.

Louis didn’t shut his eyes in time - the shot burst the infected, blood scattering out, flecking them both. The infected’s headless body swayed on the spot, then dropped, its locked-up grip on Louis’ arm dragging down off it, feeling like it was going to rip his arm out of the socket with the full dead weight of it against his shoulder. 

The man made a noise of disgust, looking down at himself. “Fucking zombie brains.” 

“You killed them,” Louis said, staring at the body. 

“You want me to kill you, too?” the man asked. “Because you’re gonna toast us both with all your yelling.” He jerked his head over his shoulder. “Stiffs are occupied. You said there’s guns?” 

“...They’re infected,” Louis said, taking a look around the street to be sure they were all thoroughly enthralled by the car. “Not zombies.” 

“They’re totally zombies,” the man countered. “You gonna lead the way, boy scout? I don’t know these streets worth a shit.” 

Louis stared at him.

The man scowled, reaching out with his gun, prodding Louis in the side with it. As his heart jumped into his throat, the man spoke again.

“Earth to office twat. Gun range?” 

“This way,” Louis said, sparing one last glance at the hoarde, still piling over each other to get at the car. “It’s just past the last office building. I go there on my lunch, all the time.” 

“Oh, good,” the man said. “I thought you were gonna be useless.” 

Louis shot the stranger an unimpressed look, but didn’t respond to that. “I’m Louis,” he introduced, instead. 

The man beside him pumped his shotgun, aiming it ahead, and Louis barely saw the approaching infected before they were blown away as mercilessly as the others. 

“Fuck yeah,” the man whooped. Then, perfectly casual, he shot Louis a grin. “Francis.” 

Louis’ stomach turned over.

_ I have a bad feeling about this.  _


	2. Chapter 2

“The fuck’s a shooting range doing in the bougie part of the city, anyway?”

Louis looked to Francis, who seemed to be paying little attention, looking up and down the street in search of new targets. 

“...The police academy is nearby,” he said. “Are you not from here?” 

“I’m from the white trash half of town,” Francis said casually. “You a cop, then?”

“What? Ha, no,” Louis said. “I’m a junior systems analyst.” 

Francis shot him a look. “What the fuck is that?”

“Oh,” Louis smiled at him. “It’s-...”

“Nevermind,” Francis cut him off immediately. “Already don’t care.”

Louis’ lips pressed into a thin line, but Francis paid him no attention, suddenly perking up again, pointing his gun down the street.

Louis had half a second to brace himself before the shotgun shot rang out, and he heard the wet sound of it finding its target further down the road. 

“Should you really be shooting them?” Louis asked, hesitantly. “They’re just sick, aren’t they?”

“Those,” Francis said, firmly, “are fuckin’ zombies.”

“I don’t think those are real,” Louis said, doubtful. “If they can be cured, wouldn’t that make these killings all just...murder?” 

Francis let the shotgun swing out as he gave an exaggerated shrug. “I’m not getting hauled off to jail over a zombie, but other than that, I don’t give a shit.” 

They came up on the fallen zombie, and Francis nudged the body aside with his boot. 

“See? Look at that. It barely has a face.”

Louis tried to avoid looking too closely. 

“No way that’s still a person,” Francis said. “And I hated this damn city, anyway, so it’s whatever. If this shooting range is full of zombie cops, it’ll be fuckin’ Christmas.” 

_ Big angry biker, casual killer, hates cops,  _ Louis noted.  _ You find the good ones, there, Louis.  _

They reached the shooting range, at last, and Louis reached out to open the doors, only to find them locked. 

“Shit,” he breathed. “Don’t suppose you know how to-....?”

A gunshot cut him off, and he yelled out, scrambling back quickly, watching the handle of the door drop a fraction, holding on by a piece of broken metal.

Drawing his shotgun back, Francis raised a boot, kicking firmly just below the broken locks. A couple solid thumps, and it gave, swinging open.

“Dumbasses,” Francis muttered. “You should have a gun-proof door on a fuckin’ shooting range.”

“I don’t think they were really expecting a break-in,” Louis said, weakly, following him in. 

“You said there’s guns here, right?” Francis asked, wandering down to the booths, peeking in between the dividers. 

“In the back,” Louis confirmed. “There’s lockers. My rifle should be in there, and probably a good few handguns.” 

“Shells?” Francis asked, raising his gun up into the air a bit. “She’s running dry.” 

“I don’t think shotguns are that popular around here,” Louis said. “But there might be some over there?” He pointed to a plexiglass window. “They sell ammo out of there, usually. If you can get into the back, you can check for shotgun shells.”

“Bulletproof door on this one, I’m guessing,” Francis said, crossing the room toward it. “You know how to pick locks?”

“No,” Louis said. “Do you?”

“Fuck no,” Francis said. “I don’t have the patience for that shit. Just break the thing open.” 

“Well, then,” Louis said, “I guess we’re looking for a key.” 

“Guns, ammo key,” Francis repeated. He looked down, eyes flicking across the floor. “See any security guard corpses around?”

“I don’t see any bodies down here,” Louis said, frowning. “The range was open all day - there should have been  _ someone  _ here.” 

“I’m sure we’ll find them, somewhere,” Francis muttered. “Wonder if zombies can use guns.” 

“They couldn’t figure out how to break the window,” Louis told him. “The office I was in- they wanted to get to you, because of the gunshots, but they couldn’t get past the glass.” He reached the door to the backroom,  _ tsk _ ’ing at the solid metal door and the keypad on it. “We need a keycard, looks like.” He grinned a bit, looking over his shoulder at Francis. “It’s like a video game. Unlocking different areas as you go.”

Francis eyed him oddly. “You’re kind of a nerd, aren’t you?”

Louis gave a slight, self-deprecating laugh. “Yeah,” he agreed, looking away, scanning for any potential places someone might have gone. “That’s me, for sure.” 

He crossed the room, peering out the doorway, onto the street. 

“They must have gone out this way,” Louis said. “We should look through the bodies on the ground.”

“Got a uniform to look for?” Francis asked, coming up behind him.

“Just nametags,” Louis said. “The employees wore their own clothes. Dress code was really casual, though - most of the people in this area are probably in suits, or something similar.” 

“So look for t-shirts,” Francis said, stepping out onto the street. Immediately, he went up to the body he’d put down on the way in, nudging it with his boot, lifting its shoulder off the ground with the toe and flipping it to expose its chest.

“You could be a bit more respectful about it,” Louis said. 

Francis spread his hands out at his sides, looking up to the sky. “Oh, Mighty Lord, take this ugly bastard that tried to eat my face-...”

“Okay, nevermind,” Louis said, and headed out onto the street as well. 

He had to go a good ways back toward the main street before bodies really became prevalent again, and he stopped just short of stepping out of their side street as he spotted live zombies still wandering around in the parking lots. 

_ Infected,  _ he corrected himself.  _ They’re just sick. _

It was getting to be a weak defense. 

He didn’t have anything noisy to toss as a distraction, this time, nor was there a live gunman distracting the crowd. His only chance was to keep low and quiet, and hope they didn’t see him moving among the corpses littering the street. 

He crouched, moving slowly forward, to where three bodies were slumped on the ground, close together. One was in a suit, but the others were dressed simply - one, a woman in flannel, the other a man in a polo.

A polo littered at the back with bullet holes. 

They weren’t the messy scattershots of Francis’ shotgun, either. 

Louis frowned. “Hey, Francis,” he hissed, turning over his shoulder. “I think-...”

There was no one behind him. 

_ Where did he go..? _

Louis looked back, checking around him to ensure he saw no zombies-  _ infected-  _ taking interest, and returned to his examination.

The bodies were all face down, shot in the back. Small bullet holes, several of them - something automatic.

Heart beating in his throat, Louis reached over, bracing the man’s shoulder and pushing, turning his body gently onto its back. 

The sight of grey skin made something in him relax. If there  _ was  _ someone else there, they were at least doing the same thing as Francis, picking through the infected. For a moment, he’d worried he’d stumbled across some murderer.

They were shot in the  _ back,  _ though. They were running  _ away.  _ He hadn’t seen a single one run, yet, if it wasn’t toward a sound - had the shooter thrown a distraction, like Louis had? It didn’t make much sense if only three had followed it. 

Something had happened, there.

He glanced back over his shoulder, down the street. There was a large van parked sideways at the corner, and it blocked his view of most of the distant street, leaving him only able to see the empty strip alongside the buildings. 

He hadn’t heard any gunshots. Francis had claimed to be getting low on ammunition - had he run out, or was he saving it?

He thought about Francis’ casual attacks on the other infected, and dismissed that idea. He didn’t seem the type to save his ammo.

Something was wrong. There was another person around, somewhere, and Francis had gone silent.

Louis got, very slowly, to his feet, and abandoned the bodies, creeping toward the other road, easing around the parked van. 

“Francis?” he called, softly, down the street. “Where did you…?” 

A gunshot rang out. It wasn’t the sound of a shotgun, and Louis’ stomach dropped. He was on his feet fully in an instant, sprinting down the street, looking wildly around. “Francis?!” he called out. 

He skidded to a stop at the end of the road, finding a gun suddenly in his face. 

He raised his hands up, backing off quickly. “Sorry, sorry!” he said. “Don’t shoot, I’m not infected.” 

The person holding the gun was a young girl, around college age, seeming oddly matched to the hunting rifle she had aimed his way. She lowered the gun almost immediately, watching him with wide eyes. 

“Another person,” she breathed. “Everyone I’ve seen is already turned.” 

“Then you didn’t see my friend?” Louis said, panic building. “I’m sorry, I really want to help you, but I need to-...”

Somewhere to the right, a window shattered. Louis faltered for half a second, watching the girl, and then made his choice, turning to sprint after it.

_ Don’t be dead,  _ he thought, rounding the corner at full speed.  _ Don’t-... _

Francis was standing in front of a broken shop window, using the butt of his gun to knock free loose shards of glass. 

“Francis!” Louis hissed. 

“There’s somethin’ in here,” Francis said. “Some kinda-...”

“Safehouse?” the girl’s voice came, outraged, over his shoulder, as she came up beside him. “That was where I was holed up,  _ asshole.  _ Now what am I supposed to do?”

“Stay in a place that’s not made of fucking glass?” Francis shot back. “You got shotgun shells in there, any chance?” 

“Why would I have shotgun shells?” she breathed, irate. “I have a  _ rifle.”  _

Francis looked to her, letting out a laugh. “With a scope, too! Little lady sniper, huh?”

“It’s for shooting you in the dick,” she shot back, venomous. “I think I’ll need the scope to find it.” 

Francis, however, didn’t seem angered by that at all, instead bursting out into loud laughter.

The girl, too, let out what was just a bit more dignified than a giggle, crossing the space to the building Francis had been breaking into. 

“You guys are surviving, too?” she asked. “I’m Zoey. Where are you hiding?”

“No hiding for this guy,” Francis said. “I’m having the time of my life.” 

Zoey eyed him, then looked to Louis.  _ “You  _ don’t look like you’re having fun.” 

“I work a couple blocks back,” Louis said. “We were trying to get into the shooting range, but the doors are locked, and we don’t have either of the keys.” 

“Keys?” the girl echoed. “You mean this guy didn’t just bust in the window?”

“Bulletproof glass, princess,” Francis said. “It’s a  _ shooting  _ range.” 

_ “Don’t  _ call me ‘princess,’” she told him, sharply. “My name’s Zoey.” 

“Francis,” the man returned. “You know how to use that gun?” 

“My dad’s a cop,” Zoey said.

Francis groaned. Louis, though, perked up a bit. 

“He might have access to the police academy,” he said. “That’d be even better for supplies than the shooting range. Does he-...?”

“He’s dead,” Zoey cut in, flatly. 

Louis abruptly lost steam. “Oh,” he said, softly. “...Um, I’m Louis, by the way.” 

“Good to meet you, Louis,” she said. She looked him up and down, frowning. “What happened to your gun?”

Louis blinked. “I...don’t have one? I was trying to get it out of the shooting range lockers.”

“What about the machinegun?” Zoey asked. “You were the one who saved me earlier, right?”

“...No,” Louis said, hesitantly. “I guess that means the bodies back there weren’t yours, either?”

“I’ve only shot a couple zombies,” she said. “Trying to save ammo. I’m faster than them, most of the time.”

“Most of the time?” Louis echoed.

Zoey gestured down the street they’d come from. “I got pinned against a van back there, earlier,” she said. “Somebody started firing my way, and I just booked it. I’m pretty sure they were taking out the zombies after me, but I wasn’t hanging around to find out.” 

“See?” Francis said, cheerfully. When Louis looked his way, he said, pointedly,  _ “Zombies.  _ She gets it.”

Louis shook his head. “They’re just sick.”

“Sure,” Zoey said. “They’re sick, for a while. And then they turn fucking rabid, and start clawing people’s faces off, and making more of those things. They’re  _ zombies.  _ They’re dead. We’re dead, too, if any of them get ahold of us.”

“...Shit,” Louis breathed. “But- but none of us is sick, right? We’ve all kept from getting hurt so far?” 

“Not for lack of trying,” Francis said. “That zombie back there would’ve made you into lunch meat, earlier.” 

Zoey shot him an alarmed look.

“It didn’t bite me,” he assured her, quickly. “Francis killed it.” Looking to the biker, he added a belated, “Thank you, for that, by the way. Until we get into that gun range, I can’t really protect myself if they come after me. I’ve just been avoiding them.”

“They’re stupid as hell,” Zoey said. “You can lead them into an alley and duck around them, and it takes them a second to realize you’re gone. I’ve been losing them that way, for a while, but it’s not working as well today as yesterday. I’m guessing they’re just more scattered when they first turn.” 

“All I’ve noticed is they hate noise,” Louis said. “As long as we stay quiet, they don’t seem to notice us. Your gunshots draw attention, though.” 

“Yeah,” Zoey said. “I’ve been running as much as I can - trying to save ammo, but going under the radar, too.”

“Boring,” Francis said, slinging his gun onto his shoulder. “They’re gonna take us out eventually, you may as well have some fun, first.” 

“I won’t let one get me,” Zoey said, firmly. “I don’t want to be one of those things.” 

“Me either,” Louis agreed. “And we’re all doing okay, so far, right? If we stick together-...”

“Oh, God, really?” Francis groaned. “This is, like, basic zombie movie rules. One of us gets infected, and we’re all locked in a room together, and the other two are lunch. We’re just as fucked if we’re by ourselves, I promise.” 

“No, no, I don’t think so,” Louis said. “Zoey, you said someone saved you, right? And Francis saved me. We’re better off with people to watch our backs, definitely.” He looked back down the road. “I just need to get to my gun, so I can watch out for you guys, too.”

“And so you’re not freeloading on my ammo,” Francis said. With that, he started walking back the way they came. “You find the key, yet?” 

“I came to look for you,” Louis admitted. “I thought you’d gotten hurt.” 

Francis shot him a look. “And what were  _ you  _ gonna do?” he asked. “You know zombie kung-fu?” 

Louis burned a bit. “Well, I couldn’t just leave you behind,” he said.

“You totally could have,” Francis said. “I won’t hold it against you. Bailing out is probably the best option. I’m just fucking around until then, really.” 

“I’m getting to my gun,” Louis said, firmly. “And then I’m  _ surviving  _ this, until someone- military, or whatever- comes for the survivors.” 

“I’m with you,” Zoey said. “You need a key, right?” 

“A key, and a key _ card,”  _ Louis said. “We need both.”

“Right,” she said. “I can’t help with the keycard, but I can get in the door, probably.” 

“You pick locks, girlscout?” Francis asked. 

“Don’t call me  _ that,  _ either,” Zoey said. “And, yeah. I had a roommate who used to lock me out and then pass out in her room, so I got creative. I picked my way into that shop.” She jerked her head toward the window Francis had smashed. 

“Great!” Louis breathed, relieved. “That’s one less thing to worry about. The ammo office might have a spare keycard, too. If not, we can go back to searching the bodies when you guys’ve reloaded your guns.” 

“Sounds like a plan,” Zoey agreed, and they both looked to Francis. 

“What, am I in charge?” he asked. “I have, like, six shells left. I’m not about to fucking argue. Let’s  _ go.”  _

Louis beamed, feeling - for the first time in  _ weeks,  _ zombie outbreak aside - properly hopeful. 

It likely wouldn’t last long, but it was there, for the moment. He needed to act while he had it.


End file.
